Christos Ikonomou - Something Will Happen, You'll See

Hey guys, he said. Guys, why don’t we call the stations?

What stations?

The stations. TV. So they’ll come and show everyone what a sorry state we’re in. How the little guy is sitting out here suffering in the cold. Fuck Social Security and all those government ministries.

You know, it’s not a bad idea. It might just –

Forget it, big guy, said number three, who was stirring the fire with a branch he’d pulled off the mulberry tree. I don’t like the sound of it.

Why?

Because. I’m not going to become a spot on TV. I’ve got my dignity.

The man on the stool started to laugh.

Hear that, guys? The gentlemen over there’s got his dignity. Why don’t you tell him to pass some over to us if he’s got any to spare?

The others laughed too.

Number three looked at them and then pointed his branch at the man on the stool.

Watch it, you cripple. Don’t mess with me, I dance a tough dance.

Didn’t we cover that ground? number five said. Enough already. Fighting isn’t going to get us through the night.

Then he turned to number one, who was standing to the side reading his book, his lips moving as if he were talking to himself.

You started to say something earlier, he said. Come on over so we can all hear.

Number one closed his book and slipped it into his coat pocket and drew closer to the fire. The corneas of his eyes were white from the cataracts, the pupils almost entirely covered. He’d seen how the others had looked at him — he’d seen lots of people looking at him like that — and for a moment he thought it was time he bought a pair of sunglasses to wear when he went out, even at night. He didn’t like for people to look at him that way. He didn’t want to scare people and didn’t want their pity, either.

Go on already, said number three. Or do you want us to beg?

They all gathered around the barrel and stretched out their hands, very close to the flames.

• • •

I was headed home late one night from Amfiali. It was cold and foggy but I decided to walk to save myself the taxi fare. Suddenly somewhere around the water treatment plant I hear a crash and all of a sudden there’s a violin lying in front of me. It really made me jump, it was a close call. If I’d been two meters further on it would have smashed me right on the head. I look up. There’s a huge apartment building so tall you get dizzy just looking at it. One of the balconies has a light on. I hear some noises and a woman shrieking. Everyone else is asleep, and no one wakes up or comes out. There isn’t a soul in the street, either. And the fog is so thick you can barely see a thing.

A few minutes later I see a young guy come tumbling down the front stairs of the building. He’s wearing a wife-beater and he’s got one of those things on his arm, what do they call them, a tattoo. Barefoot and with his hair all crazy and the kind of eyes that make your blood freeze. But I wasn’t afraid.

What’s going on, man? You almost killed me.

Go fuck yourself, gramps, he answers. Not angrily but like he might start crying any second.

Then he drops to his hands and knees and starts gathering up whatever he finds on the sidewalk. The instrument is in thousands of tiny pieces. The strings in one place and the wood in another, it’s a total mess. But the young guy picked up every piece didn’t leave a single splinter. Then he held the whole mess cut in his arms and sat down on the stairs. He was holding the violin in his arms as if it were something alive some baby or little kid. I was standing off a little ways and watching him messing with the pieces and trying to put them back together again. Look at that, I said to myself. That violin won’t ever make music again. No song will ever come from its strings. That’s a damned sad sight.

The violin’s a beautiful instrument, said number four, the one with kidney stones. My father, may his soul rest in peace, used to cry whenever he heard the violin. He was a refugee from –

It’s nothing like the accordion, though, broke in number two, shifting on his stool. There’s no instrument like the accordion. I tried everything to get my son to learn to play but he wouldn’t listen to me. He never listened to me. He didn’t listen to anyone. That’s why he.

He took a swig of tsipouro and the same shiver ran down his back again. He stood up from the stool took the comb out of his pocket and started running it through his hair, which felt hard and prickly, like thorns.

Number three struck the side of the barrel with the branch he was holding.

Will you guys shut up already? Come on, man, what happened next?

I was thinking all that, number one continued, but I didn’t say a thing. I just watched him stroking that violin and didn’t let out a peep not a word as if I were a priest who’d just given a dying person his last rights. On the one hand I felt sorry for him and on the other I didn’t want to say something he might take the wrong way. Because he was clearly pretty upset.

Hold on a sec, broke in number three. I missed something. Now someone’s dying?

Number two, the one with the tsipouro, started to say something but thought better of it and bowed his head.

What’s he laughing at? Didn’t I tell you not to get on my nerves? Didn’t I tell you –

We all heard you just fine, said number two. You dance a tough dance. So why don’t you show us your moves? You’re all talk. Come on, let’s see what you’ve got!

Number one touched him on the shoulder. Please, he said. In the light from the fire his eyes were a strange yellow color. Number two shuddered. He hunched over on his stool and fell silent.

Then number one turned to number three.

When a priest goes to give a dying person his last rights he’s not supposed to talk, he explained. Not before and not after. Otherwise it doesn’t work. I didn’t know either. I found out when my Maria died. I called the priest from the hospital and he came and left without saying a word. I’d been in the hospital for a week from morning until night and hadn’t shut my eyes once. I begged him to say something to me just a few words it didn’t matter what. Aren’t there moments in your life when you need to hear something? Moments in your life when you really need some human conversation. When you need to hear something so as not to.

He stopped and took a gulp of breath as if he were drowning. By now he was yellow all over. No one said a word. All you could hear was the roar of the fire and the wood crackling in the barrel.

Then what happened? asked number five. You didn’t finish the story. What happened next?

I hear a voice overhead. I look up and see the top half of a woman hanging over the balcony railing and she’s shouting and shouting. You wouldn’t believe the things that came out of her mouth. I couldn’t see her face or anything but she had long black hair that was hanging loose in the air. It felt like you could reach out a hand and touch it. The things that hair reminded me of. At any rate. She was cursing up a storm, a real sailor’s mouth, you wouldn’t believe the things she said. My jaw dropped, I’d never heard a woman cursing like that. And the young guy turns to me and says:

You hear that, gramps? It’s not enough that she killed my violin, now she’s swearing at me, too. But you should stick around for the next episode. I’m going to go back up there and throw her TV off the balcony. First it was her turn and now it’s mine. Aren’t I right? Don’t worry, I’ll even things up. Stick around and you’ll see what kind of party we’re going to throw here tonight.

That’s what he said but he didn’t budge at all. He just sat there and messed with his violin stretching the strings and trying to piece together the broken pieces of wood. But it was no use.